


Designated Light

by fl_air



Category: EXO (Band)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-06
Updated: 2018-08-06
Packaged: 2019-06-22 18:36:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,109
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15588177
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fl_air/pseuds/fl_air
Summary: Sehun may not be fighting alongside Jongdae and the others on the battlefield, but that doesn’t mean he can’t help.





	Designated Light

**Author's Note:**

> For Chenpionships Round 6 Prompt 210:  
> Chen/Sehun  
> while you studied the blade, i was busy studying the forge so i could make you the strongest, sharpest blade ever wow i love you
> 
> Dear prompter, thank you so much! I can only apologize for the shortness of this fic (my original plot was going nowhere, so I threw basically everything out and started again with these snapshots last minute), and for not strictly sticking to the tone of your prompt. Nevertheless, I hope there is something in this you can enjoy.
> 
> Title taken from Emily Dickinson’s poem which begins, _‘Dare you see a Soul at the White Heat?’_.
> 
> No specific warnings, but the majority of the characters are career soldiers in a fantasy pseudo-historical world, and this fic contains mention of violence, injury, death, and associated trauma. And very, very mild swordplay (in just about every sense of the word). Any corrections gratefully received – I tried to research both the blade and the forge, and ended up understanding neither.

***

Sehun arrives late to the festivities, only reaching the hall long after the best of the food has been eaten and the majority of the toasts have been made.

The bells announcing the army’s return had sounded shortly after midday, and Sehun had sent one of his apprentices to watch the gates and bring back news while Sehun himself couldn’t be spared. He’d had to wipe back tears when Mark had eagerly reported that everyone on Sehun’s list had made it home, even if Jongin had been badly wounded in the last skirmish and was unlikely to ever fight again.

Sehun’s legs are longer now, scarred and burned from working at the forge, but he’s never felt younger than when he sees his friends gathered at the table, heroes dressed in armor, bloodied and warworn.

But then Baekhyun spots him and yells, accusing Sehun of deliberately making them wait and causing Junmyeon to worry, just so that he could have his dramatic entrance. Minseok offers him a drink, Yixing and Kyungsoo help Jongin to his feet, and Chanyeol leads the others in burying him in a hug, Jongdae’s arm gripped tight around Sehun’s waist.

Just like that, they’re one again.

***

Two drinks later and Baekhyun slumps, unconscious, against the table. Nobody mocks him for it, which, more than anything, tells Sehun how hard the last three months must have been. He tolerates it then, when Junmyeon pulls him to one side, even linking his arms up behind Sehun’s head, forcing Sehun to look down into his eyes.

“You’ve grown,” Junmyeon says, reverently.

“Yes,” Sehun agrees, relieved that he took the time to clean up a little, to change out of his singed and stained work clothes into something smarter, softer, something worthier of the sacrifices made to keep him safe within the city walls.

“I’m glad I had a piece of you to take with me,” Junmyeon says, gesturing to his hip.

The sword at Junmyeon’s side had been the last blade Yixing and Sehun had worked on together, when Sehun had still served as Yixing’s apprentice. They had dedicated two months to its creation, a gift commissioned by their Lord upon Junmyeon’s promotion. Yixing had watched the ceremony with an earnest solemnity, before declaring Sehun’s training complete.

Sehun doesn’t say, ‘You should have taken me instead,’ because it’s not a night for arguments.

He says, “I’m glad you’re back.”

***

They return to the group, and Jongdae immediately directs Sehun to take the seat to his left, telling Chanyeol that he needs to move. Chanyeol makes a token complaint, but stands up readily, patting Jongdae on the shoulder before walking over and filling the empty space next to Kyungsoo. Pleased, Sehun delicately rests his hand on Jongdae’s knee, alert for any sign of discomfort, as even the exhilaration of a successful homecoming isn’t always enough for Jongdae to accept affection in public.

Jongdae doesn’t react though, and for once, Sehun feels too privileged to push further. It’s been so long since they’ve touched, since they’ve spoken, since they’ve seen each other. Jongdae’s hair is messier, his cheeks thinner, there’s blood on his clothes and a stony look on his face, but he’s present and real. Sehun can wait.

Eventually, the torches burn out.

Jongdae doesn’t have family in the city, and there isn’t time for him to travel home. The barracks are overcrowded, and renting a room is an unnecessary expense when Sehun’s more than willing to share his bed.

They lie next to each other, Sehun’s heart beating fast.

“Spend tomorrow with me?” he asks hopefully.

Jongdae’s already asleep.

***

Jongdae steers Sehun through the market, exuberantly pointing out every stall that catches his attention, and stopping every few steps to chat with the owners. He sincerely compliments the elderly woman selling small sprays of flowers, praising her eye for decoration, and comes away with a twist of pink and yellow buds, and a broad smile on his face. He treats Sehun to the sweetest cakes they can find, patiently queueing in line behind the excited waiting children, and Sehun makes sure his expression of thanks is extra appreciative, as he can see how hard Jongdae is working to take care of him.

They sit together as the sun sets, and Sehun listens while Jongdae talks about all the fruits they had tried and which ones were his favorites, about the stories Jongdae had heard about the city as a child, about all the people they had met and what they had spoken about. Sehun mostly stays quiet and lets Jongdae lean against him, while Jongdae recounts their day, committing it to memory.

Not once does Jongdae talk about the campaign, or about how this reprieve is only temporary.

He wipes honey from Sehun’s lips with his thumb, and laughs.

***

Jongdae fights aggressively, Sehun notices. He stands his ground, stays out of reach until he has figured out his best angle of attack, and then charges in relentlessly, stepping close to his opponent to try to mitigate their often longer reach. He tends to thrust rather than slash if he has the choice. He is quick to react, pivots neatly, keeps his knees sharp. Even in training, he’s not afraid to go for Baekhyun’s throat.

They’re lounging on Sehun’s bed when Jongdae asks, “What were you doing, watching me practice earlier?”

“I want to make a sword for you,” Sehun says.

Jongdae tilts his head. “I already have a sword.”

“One as good as Junmyeon’s.”

“And what use would I have for a sword as ornamental as Junmyeon’s?” Jongdae teases.

“One as suited to you, as Junmyeon’s is to him,” Sehun counters.

That caught Jongdae’s interest. “You think you know me well enough?”

Suddenly being the sole focus of Jongdae’s quizzical gaze leaves Sehun struggling to hold his nerve. “With your permission I will,” he says. Feeling bolder, he reaches over and gently licks the sensitive spot on Jongdae’s neck.

Jongdae snorts, “Just don’t confuse that with knowing my weaknesses.”

***

Jongdae has Sehun on his back, arms tied loosely above his head with the strip of marked fabric Sehun had originally borrowed so he could take Jongdae’s measurements.

Sehun closes his eyes, enjoying the feeling of Jongdae’s hands sliding down his chest, the way his fingers and tongue trace a trail down Sehun’s body, ending at his cock. Sehun moans, lost in sensation, his hips twitching in anticipation, blood rushing, when Jongdae tugs and twists his dick painfully.

“Fuck. What-?” Sehun gasps, struggling to sit up and staring at Jongdae in shock.

Jongdae’s grin is smug. “Pay attention. I thought you wanted to learn how I handle a sword.”

***

Jongin sits in a low chair, alternating between throwing a ball for his niece and nephew to squabble over, and sticks for his dogs to chase. He’s laughing, but he moves so gingerly when he makes room for Sehun to perch beside him, skin resting against skin.

“I’m sorry,” Sehun says, and it’s both a recognition of loss and an admission of guilt. He should have visited sooner. He should never have accepted Junmyeon and Yixing’s decision. If he’d never been born, maybe they would have bargained for Jongin’s life instead.

“Don’t be stupid,” Jongin says. “I’ll be all right eventually.”

Jongin talks about how afraid he was, how weak he felt, how much it hurt, how embarrassing it was to have Chanyeol carry him, to have Kyungsoo dress his wounds and tend his body. Sehun absorbs every detail, accepts every word as a gift of friendship.

“Jongdae doesn’t talk to me,” Sehun sulks. “He doesn’t think I’m strong enough.”

“Jongdae doesn’t talk to anyone, except maybe Minseok.” Jongin hesitates, “But you, you’re what they’re fighting for. It’s different.”

Sehun’s always been greedy however, wants to bear Jongdae’s darkness, as well as his devotion. “I’ll prove I can take it.”

***

“Here.”

Jongdae starts with Sehun’s left eye, the tip of his sword brushing Sehun’s eyelashes, blindness only a blink away. Sehun stays still, doesn’t exhale, impressed by Jongdae’s continued precision, his control. His arms are perfectly steady.

“Here.”

Sehun tastes steel against his lips. He opens his mouth, lets Jongdae press the flat of the blade against his tongue.

“Here.”

The dip of his throat.

“Here.”

Where his neck meets his shoulder.

“Here.”

Over his heart.

Jongdae’s proud of his skill, likes to show off, but this ruthless, methodical remembrance of all the ways he’s killed someone, is draining him, hollowing him out.

“Go on,” Sehun encourages. He’s determined to see this through, to prove that Jongdae doesn’t need to hide himself.

“Here, again and again and again.”

Just above his navel.

Sehun’s breath catches, as he imagines Jongdae carving into him.

“Sehun,” Jongdae warns. “You don’t want me to get mixed up about this.”

Sehun nods, mortified.

The top of his thigh, the back of his knee, the severing of a foot, the removal of a hand.

“That’s it for now.”

Sehun shivers, feeling the ghost of Jongdae’s touch.

Jongdae frowns. “Don’t you dare turn this into something romantic.”

***

He shouldn’t have said anything.

Jongdae’s sword is as yet nothing more than crude sketches, which Sehun hurriedly flings into the fire, too ashamed to let anyone see the extent of his inadequacy. He imagines the humiliation of presenting a weapon to Jongdae, only for it to remain buried in Jongdae’s chest of belongings, too fragile and impractical to bury in the chests of his enemies. Even though Jongdae had tacitly approved his proposal, Sehun shouldn’t have presumed that he'd appreciate Sehun’s intrusion into his other life, or that he'd want to carry a reminder of Sehun into battle with him the way Junmyeon did. The sword Jongdae primarily wields has clearly served him well, who is Sehun to say he should replace it?

It eats at him, hammers away at him.

Until one morning when he gets an idea.

It’s very simple; a slightly thinner blade, a slightly sharper point, the symbol of Jongdae’s mother’s house the only inscription. His finest steel. His cleanest work.

He shows it to Yixing first, trusts Yixing’s judgment above his own.

Yixing tests its weight, checks its balance, before handing it back to Sehun with a bow. “This city’s fortunate to have you.”

***

“You’re leaving soon,” Sehun says. The sun hasn’t risen, but both of them are already awake.

Jongdae turns onto his back. “Two days from now.”

Sehun had heard the news from Baekhyun, but it doesn’t make Jongdae’s casual confirmation of it any easier to stomach. “Jongin’s not going.”

“No.”

“Good. At least not all of you are abandoning me this time.”

Sehun imagines Jongdae rolling his eyes as he answers, “Of course, your entertainment is the kingdom’s highest priority.”

Sehun rests his head on Jongdae’s chest. “It should be.”

Jongdae pets Sehun’s hair. “We have to get up. Your apprentices will soon be chopping firewood, and I want to get to the training grounds early.”

“The apprentices won’t miss me. And why do you have to train, anyway? You know you’re already the best.”

“I’m far from the best,” Jongdae says, “but I do have something to boast about today.”

The memory of Jongdae’s smile, surprised and awed, when he held the sword for the first time is more precious to Sehun than gold.

But then Jongdae had said, “I’ll work hard to be worthy of it,” like he didn’t understand that Sehun never intended to add to his burdens.

***

“You’re lucky I trust you to come back to me.” Sehun watches the fastidious way Jongdae packs his belongings; his bundle of spare clothes looks so small in his hands.

“There’s no guarantee I will,” Jongdae says, blunt as ever. “No guarantee you’ll wait.”

“I’ll be here,” Sehun promises. “All of you, you know where you can find me.” He’s accepted it as his place, his purpose for now.

Jongdae gestures for Sehun to lie down on the mattress, and then straddles Sehun’s thighs, spreads his legs wide, the heat of him obvious even through layers of cloth. “You’ll be right here, on this bed, thinking of me?”

“Yes,” Sehun says, “Yes!” he says again, emphatic, when Jongdae rocks his hips back and forth.

“Good,” Jongdae says, and then returns to sorting through his gear.

Sehun whines and pouts, and Jongdae laughs, loud and brazen, filling the room.

It’ll be so empty, Sehun thinks, when he leaves.

“I’m sorry,” Jongdae says, and cuts off Sehun’s protest. “You’ve given me so much recently, and I’ve not been able to reciprocate.”

“It’s all right,” Sehun says. “You can make it up to me next time you’re home.”

“Yes,” Jongdae agrees. “You’re home.”

***


End file.
